


Every Boy Should Have Two Things

by ladyknightanka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family, Gen, Gen Fic, Kid Fic, Mild Language, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknightanka/pseuds/ladyknightanka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In retrospect, it's not really Six Flags, with its tacky rides, bad food, and creepy mascots, that thirteen year old Sam wants desperately enough to run away. It's normalcy, an apple-pie life. When he's deterred in Windom, Minnesota, and put into the custody of emergency room nurse Kate Milligan, he gets not only that, but a chance to experience having a mother and being a big brother to Kate's seven year old son, Adam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Boy Should Have Two Things

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on [my livejournal](http://ladyknightanka.livejournal.com/37974.html). This was written for the Adam Milligan minibang challenge. The art accompanying it was made by the lovely [rattyjol](http://rattyjol.livejournal.com/26744.html#cutid1). Enjoy. ♥

-

Every Boy Should Have Two Things

-

_“Every boy should have two things: a dog and a mother willing to let him have one,” ~Anonymous._

Sam wakes less than two seconds before Herb the bus driver's meaty hand lands on his shoulder. He and the corpulent man stare at one another for a moment, wide-eyed, before Herb clears his throat and says, “Ya gotta get off now, kid.”

Sam glances out of the foggy window he'd thus been dozing against. Other patrons from the tour bus have already congregated outside and are chatting with their respective companions.

“We're not at Six Flags yet,” Sam says, which earns him a deadpan look.

“Pit-stopping for grub,” Herb explains. “We're in Windom, Minnesota right now. I reckon Six Flags ain't for another office day yet.” He narrows his beady eyes at Sam. “Sure is weird, a kid like you travelin' so far all alone. Wouldn't it've been brighter to catch a plane from General Mitchell International?”

Sam scowls. “I already told you, I'm _thirteen_ , not a kid, and my dad gave me permission. I'm meeting Mom at the park.” The lie comes easy now, even 'mom'. He's used it twice and had stumbled only the first time.

“Whatever you say, champ,” Herb says with a shrug. “Still gotta get out.”

“Fine,” Sam replies. When Herb retreats to the front of the bus, he lets out a sigh of relief and stands on his tiptoes to grab his bag off the storage area above his seat.

Soon, if Dean's premonitions prove correct and Sam continues, as his brother eloquently put it, “Growing like a bladder twelve hours without a piss,” Sam won't need to stretch so far anymore; whatever he wants will be within reach.

Herb beckons impatiently from across the yellow 'do not pass' line near his steering wheel, and Sam chooses to focus on the sweat stains under the arms of his uniform – _not_ Dean, who had been asleep when Sam snuck out.

He slips the strap of his bag onto his shoulder, shuffles off the bus, and squints up at the golden arches of a McDonald's. It's not the kind of place he usually eats at, though no more classy than those Mom-and-Pop diners, either, but there's a gas station up from, a port-a-potty out back, and food inside, a-okay for him and the rest of the bus-lagged tour group.

Sam is the only one who isn't with a family member or ten. While John's counterfeit credit card and forged signature on the fake form Sam had typed up at Milwaukee's public library stave off most awkward questions, Sam's unsurprised when one of the mothers among the group, Mrs. Stone, breaks away from her gaggle of middle-aged friends to ask him, “Do you have money, hon? I was just about to go inside and order for Alan and Jake. I could pick you up something, too?”

She has a sweet, round face, a kind smile, and brown eyes that blend with her coffee-cream-and-sugar skin-tone. One of her sons has also collected all one-hundred-and-fifty Pokemon cards, so Sam knows they're a good bunch. He beams at her, but politely declines. “No, thank you, ma'am. I'm fine.”

She nods and allows him to duck around her, into the McDonald's. There isn't a very long line. Most of their group has already overtaken what booths are available, so Sam resigns himself to getting a Big Mac and a drink, then exits to the half empty parking-lot again. It has no benches, but the McDonald's is enclosed by cement-block dividers, and they're as good a place as any to sit down.

Sam sets his bag aside and takes a sip of his Sprite. The paper packet of his burger is slightly soggy, but the smell it emits makes his mouth water, regardless. He peels the yellow wrapping halfway back and is about to take his first bite, when padded footsteps suddenly ring out behind him.

The hairs on the nape of his neck rise, and his body unwinds to do the same. He whips around on his heel so fast that his sneaker almost makes contact with his soda, but instead of the monster he expects – demon, poltergeist, _something_ , because this can't be as easy as it is – a dog sits on its haunches behind him, ears floppy as Sam's hair, tongue lolling with drool.

“S-Sam, are you okay?” Mrs. Stone inquires from afar.

Sam meets her nervous gaze and manages a soft laugh. “Everything's fine, ma'am. It's just a dog.” The dog in question woofs to emphasize his affirmation and Sam frowns at it. “You shouldn't've scared the nice lady,” he tells it sternly.

It whimpers and blinks big, sad brown eyes at him. Sam sighs and reclaims his seat, the dog now beside him. Its tawny fur is splattered with mud and it wears no identifying collar; it must be a stray, Sam thinks, though he finds it strange, how far it is from the main town.

“You must've followed the smell of food here, huh?” Sam tears a hefty chunk of his burger off. In a flash, the dog eats it out of his palm, and he has his answer. “No wonder you're hungry,” he says with a gentle smile. “You look like nothing but fur and bones. _That's_ what I'll call you – Bones.”

He receives another woof for his efforts and rewards Bones with more food. It doesn't take them long to decimate their shared meal, and takes even less time for the bus driver to call the whole group back. Sam stands with his bag, tosses his leftovers into a nearby bin, and starts for the bus. Bones follows.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Herb exclaims, once they draw near. “You can't bring the mutt with you, kid. It'll leave hair and crap all over my seats.”

Sam resists the urge to glare, and instead mimes Bones's begging face from earlier. It always works wonders on Dean. “Aw, c'mon, dude, he won't do anything,” he promises. “It's only a few more hours. I'll make sure he doesn't make a mess.”

Herb flares his broad shoulders back and scowls. The sun's gleam behind him blurs his features, and the pose is so reminiscent of John that Sam inhales sharply. John saying 'no', depriving Sam of this trip that every other eighth grader but Sam was allowed to attend, that he had _promised_ Sam could have, is what spurred Sam to run away in the first place. He can't let his father hold him back anymore.

Sam's lips set into a stubborn sneer to match Herb's – or John's, on his worst day – and other patrons of the bus pause to watch the showdown. Bones paws at his nose like he wants to hide. Mrs. Stone looks as if she wants the same thing.

“Sam, please,” she says, the fingers of both her hands interlinked in a pseudo-prayer. “Why don't you just come in? It'll get late soon, honey, and I'm sure the dog has someone to miss it...”

“No, he doesn't,” Sam replies, still firm. Bones may not be pedigree, but neither is Sam, and both of them deserve someone to notice if they're gone. Sam has Dean; he doesn't know _what_ Bones has. “If Bones can't go, I won't, either.”

“Just let the dog on,” someone else calls out, but the bus driver holds out a hand, and Mrs. Stone's hopeful expression crumples.

“He won't go without the dog?” Herb spits. “Then he ain't going at all. Not on _my_ charter. Shouldn't have let the ungrateful brat on, anyway. Have fun wrestling public transit all the way to the park.”

He storms inside his prone bus and, after a tense moment, everyone else follows. Except Mrs. Stone. “You sure you won't come?” she asks, an imploring note to the inquiry.

Sam shakes his head, but dredges up a dimpled smile. “Sorry, ma'am, but...thank you. Your kids are waiting.”

He watches as she reluctantly nods and enters the bus. It's gone within minutes. Bones stares after it with a forlorn whimper, but butts his head against Sam's knuckles when Sam pets him.

“'S okay, boy,” Sam mumbles. “Sometimes, two's all you need. Grownups suck, anyway. We'll be okay.”

A look up at the graying sky above dims his determination a bit. Mrs. Stone doesn't need to be a psychic to be right. Moisture thickens the air, a omen for rain. Sam pulls the large jacket he borrowed from Dean tighter around himself, and heads back into the McDonald's, thankfully open twenty four hours a day.

“Stay,” he says to Bones, outside the door. The dog cocks his head and barks, but doesn't move, so Sam wonders again whether he's been house-trained, though it hardly matters anymore.

There are only two employees inside the McDonald's: an older man who's probably the manager, and a gum-popping girl about Dean's age, who has her head cradled in one palm, bopping to some unknown beat. Sam stops across the counter in front of her. He knows for a fact that there are just as many female monsters as male, but on appearance alone, she with her dyed-pink hair in pigtails seems less menacing. And besides, there's a Taurus PT99 tucked into his waistband, courtesy of Dean, and a sheathed bowie knife strapped against one of his socked ankles. He's ready.

The girl's eyes roll up to meet his when he asks, “Do you live in the town nearby...Windom?”

Her ID reads _hello, my name is Peggy Barton_ , he mentally notes. She squints at him from behind bejeweled violet frames. “Why?”

Sam fidgets from foot to foot, brushes hair from his eyes, and tries to appear sheepish. “I, uh, my bus left me. I was hoping to hitch a ride to Windom's bus station?”

Peggy frowns at him for so long that he fears he'll have to either ask her manager or walk, but then she rolls her eyes again and curtly nods 'yes'. “Sure, but keep your hands to yourself, pipsqueak,” she says. “We're going _straight_ to the bus stop.”

“Perfect,” Sam says with a grin. He's not Dean, after all; Peggy's virtue is safe with him.

Peggy flicks her wrist in the direction of an empty booth across the counter. “I get off in twenty minutes. Can you wait?”

“I'd rather, er, sit outside, if that's okay?” Sam replies. He thumbs back toward the sole exit, Bones visible through the glass. “I wanna keep my dog company.”

“Whatever floats your boat.” Peggy shrugs and tugs a few napkins out from a proximate dispenser to rub the counter down with.

Sam returns to Bones, who nuzzles up against him. Carding his fingers through the dog's grimy fur, Sam leans into his solid warmth. The roof over the entrance keeps them dry, but delicate drops somehow blow in, anyway. There's a rolled up wrapper near one of the two trashcans that stand, sentinel-like, in front of the McDonald's. Sam considers it briefly, then picks it up.

“Fetch, boy,” he says, tossing it as far as he can. It starts to arc into a landing about halfway across the empty lot. Bones's dark eyes gleam. He wriggles his rump in preparation, tail manic atop it, and lunges after his prey.

They do this for almost all of the next half hour, till Sam's arm is sore, the makeshift ball is a crumbling mess, and Peggy finishes up. She stands behind him on the top step and stares for a couple of seconds, before dodging around him to one of the few cars still parked in the lot: a lime-green VW Bug Dean would consider an auto-mechanical travesty.

“C'mon, kid,” she calls over her shoulder. Sam and Bones trail after her, and she eyes the dog. “It's only, like, a fifteen minute drive. I hope you can keep Fido in check.”

“Bones is a good dog,” Sam replies quickly, recalling the bus driver's adverse reaction. Bones responds by sitting still on his haunches and heaving heavy breaths. Sam pets him. “I'll make sure he doesn't damage anything.”

“All right,” Peggy says, and climbs into the driver's seat. Sam tries the right-hand, backseat door and finds it unlocked. He crawls in as far as he can go, till he's behind the front, passenger-side seat, so Bones can hop in beside him. Just before wheeling off, Peggy rolls her window down and shouts, “See ya, Frank,” presumably to her boss, whom Sam catches waving in the rear-view. Then the drive to Windom commences.

They don't talk for all of five minutes, aside from Sam's gently murmured mantra, “Good boy.”

Soon, however, Peggy's brown eyes latch onto the rear-view mirror, and she says, “I've gotta brother 'bout your age.”

Sam shrugs. “And I have one yours.”

“Oh, cool.” She squints at the road ahead, stopping at appropriate lights and signs. Sam's not used to such careful driving, but when Peggy says, “My mom'd never let Tyler take the bus so far,” he realizes that there are a lot of differences between the Winchesters and Bartons.

Peggy keeps looking away from the wet street, toward him, and he knows her mom's not the only one; she probably wouldn't let her little brother travel alone, either. She'd worry about Tyler and _is_ worried about Sam. A voice in Sam's head tells him Dean's worried, too, that Dean's tearing Milwaukee apart looking for him, getting himself into trouble along the way, but those thoughts only leech the smile from Sam's face. He can't quite manage another one to put Peggy at ease.

“Dean – that's my brother – didn't want me to take the bus so far by myself, either. Neither did Dad. Six Flags is forever away from home. 'Cept I really wanted to go.” Sam speaks more to camouflage his frown than anything. The lie comes bitter as dead man's blood to his lips. As if any of the places they stop in for their lifelong road-trip are _home_.

“So they let you?” Peggy inquires. Her incredulity cuts through his ire and Sam hesitantly nods.

Outside, buildings begin to pop up like bindweed – stores, offices, and little cookie-cutter houses. There's not a lot of graffiti or litter, but some overgrown lawns. Windom will look nicer, more like the suburb it is, during the day, Sam thinks. As it is, it's a ghost town, hopefully not in the literal sense.

The bus station isn't too far into Windom. Its huge, blue and orange transit sign appears luminous even at night, but no one seems around to tend to it. Although Peggy slows near one of the bus stops that line the curb prior to the station, she keeps the engine running. “You sure you wanna be here, kid? I don't know if there are still buses running so late. Windom's not really a night-owl's perch.”

“What else can I do?” Sam asks, fingers bunched into the material of his jeans. Bones's head hovers above his knee.

Peggy smiles, all glittery black lip-gloss, and says, “Come home with me and call your dad – or maybe that brother of yours. You can stay the night, play Tekken with Tyler. Mom won't mind, and I'm sure your family'd be relieved.”

Sam wants to say something pithy and Dean-like in response – “Come home with you? Why don'tcha buy me dinner first?” – but all that escapes his lips is a stammered, “I-I can't.” He fists his hands so tightly that his nails dig in and hurt.

Bones croons at him. Peggy looks like she wants to do the same, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, her mouth set into a grimace. “Look, kid, you did something stupid. Taking a bus from Windom to Six Flags? I've never been. It's way too far, 'specially if you live somewhere close by.” She meets Sam's gaze in the rear-view. “I get wanting to go, though, and I bet your dad'll understand, too. Everybody's thirteen sometime.”

“You don't know my dad,” Sam says, then opens the door closest to his vicinity and jumps out, Bones at his side. “Thanks, but you shouldn't waste anymore gas on me, okay? I'll be fine.”

Peggy doesn't answer at once, instead scrutinizing him for a few moments more. Sam knows he must look the picture of pitiful, his hanging knapsack practically taller than him, swinging like a guillotine above his ankle, Dean's borrowed jacket a large, shapeless bag on his smaller form, his hair plastered to his forehead thanks to a faint drizzle of rain.

“What's your name?” Peggy finally asks.

“Sam,” he replies.

She bites her bottom lip, but removes her foot from the Bug's brakes and quickly hurdles around a streetlamp. Sam watches her go, something heavy curled in his rib-cage that he almost _hopes_ is a respiratory infection of some sort.

Once Peggy is out of sight, Sam hurries inside the glass enclosure of an adjacent bus stop. With one hand, he both beckons Bones in and grabs a newspaper from the stack parallel a side exit. He takes one from the middle so it isn't as wet, and lines its pages out on the sole bench inside, long enough for him to stretch out on, though he has to repeat the process on the ground for Bones. He doesn't want his dog to sleep in a puddle, either.

Sam sprawls out on his improvised bed and gives Bones's head one last stroke. “G'night, boy.”

-

-

The entrance to the bus stop has no door. Wind blows through it perpetually.

Sam shivers, but keeps his eyes shut, practically to the point of pain. It's hardly thirty minutes later that flashing lights force him to unscrew his eyelids. He opens them to find a police car parked along the chalked-off area for buses. A bald man in uniform, wearing mirrored black shades, steps out of the errant vehicle.

Even as Sam sighs and says, “Peggy sent you, huh?” one of his hands drops to his waist, to his gun, just in case.

“I'm Officer Joe Barton,” the man replies, “Peggy's uncle. Her mom called and said she'd encountered a suspected runaway.”

Sam scowls. “Look, Officer, Peggy's nice and all, but she's _wrong_. I'm no runaway.”

“She said you told her your daddy didn't want you going on your own.” Officer Barton quirks an eyebrow.

“No, he didn't, but he still signed a waiver for that charter to take me,” Sam says, his free hand roving to the zipper on his bag, the other still inches away from his weapon. “How was I 'sposed to know the jerk bus driver would leave me stranded?”

Officer Barton angles both his arms up in a passive 'don't shoot' gesture and says, “Look, we'll clear everything up down at the station. You can show me your slip, I'll call your daddy–”

“No!” Sam interjects. He thinks Barton's eyes must round beneath his sunglasses, but it's hard to tell. Then again, as Dean always says, who wears sunglasses at night, anyway? Not like there's a sun around to shield your eyes from. All it does it make you look like a douche. Cheeks red, Sam mumbles, “Dad'll make me go home. I wanna go to Six Flags – I _have_ to.”

If he goes back now, Dean and John will both keep a stricter watch on him. He knows it's because they care, because they want him to be safe from all the monsters that follow them around like rats do the Pied Piper, but if he goes back now, he'll never get to make a journey like this again and certainly won't ever find _normal_. That's worth missing his family for a little while longer.

Bones's head shoots up, and his ears prick at the note of distress in Sam's tone, despite Sam assuming he'd been asleep. The golden retriever’s lips peel back to bare his sharp teeth at Barton, a low growl husky in his throat. Barton takes a step back and his hand roves to his own utility belt, ready to grab something to defend himself with.

“Let's all just calm down,” he says.

Sam's fingers descend into the soft fur where Bones should have a collar, at the nape of the dog's neck. “Not if you even _think_ about hurting my dog,” he grits out, then cranes his chin higher.

He wants to maintain his staring contest with Barton, wants to _win_ it, but a big white van turns onto their street and slowly creeps toward them. Both Sam and Barton shoot it wary glances. It looks like the kind of car someone would use to pick up kids – or, with that much space, stock up on weapons and hunt in it – but the windows are not tinted, and Sam catches sight of a pretty blonde woman at its wheel, when it pulls up beside Barton's patrol car.

She rolls down her window and inquires, “Joe, that you?”

Barton's forehead scrunches. Sam thinks he's squinting behind his glasses. “Kate? Yeah, it's me. You heading home from your shift?”

“I am.” The woman – Kate, Barton had called her – hesitates, eyes on Sam. He can't tell if they're brown, blue or green in the distance. “Is everything all right? I saw you with the kid and...are you hurt, sweetie?”

She directs the last question to Sam, who shakes his head and replies, “No, ma'am. Just waiting for a bus outta town.”

This earns him another glare from Barton. “Look, kid, I ain't gonna let you stay out here all night. The next bus doesn't show up for–”

“I don't care,” Sam exclaims, and Bones growls, making his presence known once more.

Kate looks between the three of them, then murmurs, “You're a runaway.”

“...No, ma'am,” Sam says again, but she must notice the pause, because she smiles. It's not really a happy expression, more a tired crook of her mouth to the right, and something like guilt claws at Sam's stomach. She's pretty in a way that niggles in his brain, like a memory. She shouldn't look so worn.

She only confirms the wayward thought when she purses her lips in a no-nonsense way and tells Barton, “What can you do, anyway? Take him down to the station and let him sleep in a cell till his mother picks him up?”

“What are you saying?” Barton inquires. He finally removes his obnoxious sunglasses to lock eyes with Kate and better absorb her meaning.

She shrugs. “You're tired, I'm tired, the kid's probably tired, too. If it's all the same, maybe he can come with me tonight, and you can check on him tomorrow, to straighten all this out when none of us are in danger of tripping over our own feet?"

“You...sure?” Barton asks, upon processing this. “It's a lot for you to take on, Kate. Another kid and a dog when you've already got work and Adam and–”

“–A day off tomorrow,” Kate interrupts. She smirks at Barton like she's won a prize, but her smile and eyes soften when she surveys Sam's slack jaw. “Besides,” she continues softly, “I want to help _because_ he reminds me of Adam. Ever seen another kid with a stubborn streak like that? He's got the same tantrum face and everything.”

“Guess so,” Barton relents.

“So it's settled.” Kate claps her hands over the steering wheel, then catches Sam's gaze. “That is, if–”

“Sam,” he whispers, though he's not really sure why. He'd have heckled Barton before giving him even that, if it was just them. It would have made Dean proud, at least, but harassing a pretty lady likely wouldn't. “My name is Sam Lennon.” He startles when Bones breaks out of his loose grasp and leaps to Kate's window-side, where he sits up on his back legs and wags his tail. Kate laughs and extends her fingers for Bones to sniff. Sam stares at the two of them, then mutters, “I guess...if Bones's okay with it, we can go with you.”

Kate beams at them both and retracts her hand from Bones's snout to unlock the door with a click. Sam steps around Barton to climb into the van's backseat, precariously slow though his fears have mostly been allayed by Bones's reaction to Kate. Animals are not as blind to the supernatural as humans.

“ _Christo_ ,” Sam still says, as he shuts the door.

“Bless you,” Kate answers distractedly, before wiggling her fingers at Barton and taking the van out of 'park'. Sam marvels at how the irony flies over her head. Once they reach a traffic light and stop, Kate turns around in her seat to extend her hand to him, as if she thinks he's her equal. He entangles her fingers in his own and likes that they're warm, but not completely soft – a little calloused, even, how he wouldn't typically imagine a woman's skin to be. She's wearing sea-foam scrubs that set off her hazel eyes, and wind from the open window beside her blows her hair into his face. Her shampoo smells pleasant, some sort of flower blend. “Call me Kate, if you like?”

“Um, okay,” Sam says, then flicks his head toward the fogged-up window nearest him. Droplets of water spritz off and hit it; lines drip down. Sam begins to finger-paint on the moist surface.

Kate must realize that it's an excuse not to converse, because she riffles the radio on and starts to hum along to a Billy Joel song. Bones accentuates the chorus with delighted barks and howls. Those are the only sounds Sam hears for the next couple of miles.

The houses they pass look more and more run-down in time, white-washed more than optic white, some shillings on their roofs sheared away by nature. Kate stops in front of one of these and rounds into its driveway. She looks back over her shoulder and notices that Sam's forehead is crinkled analytically.

Her smile is easy as she says, “I know it's not the Taj Mahal, but I like it. It's home.”

“I like it, too,” Sam hurriedly affirms. It's nicer than most places he's stayed in, anyway, and certainly more so than the dilapidated Milwaukee motel he'd prowled out of – better than anywhere John prefers, honestly, where they wouldn't even mind if you left a body behind.

Kate unlocks the van's doors, and Sam barrels out after Bones, taking in the toys in the yard: little Tonka trucks, a tricycle, scattered action figures, and battered stuffed animals. “You're a mom?” he asks Kate, and when she nods, feels suddenly warmer in the chilled rain.

“I've got a little boy, Adam,” Kate says. Her smile etches deeper and her eyes twinkle like the stars above. She moves to the entrance, the number four-nineteen lopsided on it, and fiddles with her keys. “You'll like him, I think. Adam's got quite the fan-club 'round here.”

“Probably,” Sam agrees, hushed, kicking up dust with the toe of one sneaker. “'M not around kids all that much.” Or nice houses owned by nice ladies, he doesn't add aloud.

Kate opens the door with a little push, but doesn't immediately enter. Rather, she turns around and sets both her hands on Sam's shoulders. More warmth seeps through her touch. “You'll do great,” she says, lips curled upwards on either end, pink and free of gloss, unlike the girls Sam's used to, Dean's girls, who can't be too much younger than Kate, but may as well be the Mona Lisa, for all their bombastic face-paint.

Dean is what Uncle Bobby calls a horn-dog. He'd probably like Kate, too – would definitely tell her so unashamedly, if he did – and Sam is abruptly relieved that his brother's not around. Kate releases him with a final squeeze and steps inside her house. Bones brushes past Sam's legs to do the same.

Sam glances over his left shoulder, at the midnight sky and the moon and stars that adorn it, then follows them into a slightly cluttered, homey foyer. It's swath with indigo-blue carpeting like the sky outside, a pale tan couch you'd never be able to get blood out of, and a fireplace with a bunch of picture-frames balanced on top of it.

“Kate, is that you?” a female voice calls, from a room beside a staircase.

“Yes, Kala, I'm home,” Kate replies, just as an elderly woman walks in. She has steel-gray hair in a tight bun, owlish glasses, and wrinkles around her smiling mouth and eyes. Kate turns to Sam and says, “This is Mrs. Kala Dutta, my neighbor. She watches Adam when I work. How was he?”

The latter question is directed toward Kala, who replies, “Oh, same as ever. A little angel...who sometimes pays too much mind to the devil on his shoulder.”

Kate laughs, one of her fair eyebrows disappearing into her hairline. “You spoil him, Kala, but thanks for helping out.”

“It's nothing,” the woman says. “I make up for not spoiling my grand-kids enough with Adam.”

“Speaking of your grand-kids, have fun in Minneapolis. You deserve some time with a family other than mine.” Kate winks, but when Kala's eyebrows furrow, she adds, “Don't worry about us, really. As you can see, I've got some guests for tomorrow–” She inclines her chin at Sam, who gives an awkward wave, “–so I'll definitely spend all the time I want with my little man. Wouldn't be fair if you couldn't, too, huh?”

“You're right, of course.” Kala comes forward and encircles Kate in a quick hug. Before retreating, she also waves at Sam and Bones. Sam watches her go.

“She's had a tough time since losing her husband,” Kate says, which jars Sam out of his observations and redirects his attention to her. She doesn't, however, speak anymore on the matter. “You wait here. I'll go see if I have anything in your size. Make yourself at home, hon.”

She lopes out of the room, up the stairs, but instead of taking a seat on her unblemished sofa and possibly wetting it – which an excited Bones does well enough on his own – Sam wanders closer to the fireplace. There are several pictures of the little boy Kate mentioned, Adam, but of Kate as well.

In one, she's even younger, barely older than Dean, who's seventeen now, with a bundled baby in her arms, grinning like she just won a marathon, although she's in what looks to be a diminutive hospital cot. The baby's tiny head sticks out from above his pale blue blankets, his hair fair as his mother's, his chubby cherub cheeks red and his eyes a sleepy gray-blue.

Sam traces a fingertip along the rim of another frame. It's cool to the touch, but the picture is all warmth. The little boy inside grins widely, older now, a colorful cone-hat atop his flyaway blond hair, Kate at his side, her hand on his shoulder, and a birthday cake in front of him with a wax number five candle, in all shades of the rainbow. Footsteps pad into the room. Kate's back.

“You...really love him, huh?” Sam asks her.

There's a pause, then, “Of course. More than anything. I don't think any mom could say different.” He can _hear_ the smile in her voice, without looking back.

“I dunno,” Sam says, rolling his shoulders back lightly. He pauses for a beat too long and hears Kate's sharp intake of breath, which finally prompts him to face her. “Uh, no. I know you're a nurse and everything, but I didn't mean it like that. The only way my mom ever hurt me was...by dying.”

Kate inhales again and crosses the distance between them, both hands braced on his shoulders once more. “Oh, honey, I'm so sorry,” she whispers.

“Oh no, I, uh, I never really knew her,” Sam says, unable to make eye contact. He glowers at his sneakers instead. “I was only maybe–” He reaches back to touch another of the picture-frames, this one between the other two. In it, Kate's son is hardly older than the first picture, but much younger than the second, “–this big when she died? I hardly felt like I ever had a mother, you know? It wasn't much of a loss.”

“Still...” Kate bites her bottom lip and pulls him into a hug before he can object. She's perhaps minutely shorter than him, so his head can fall into the crook of her shoulder easily, but he remains stiff for a few seconds, arms out behind her. Then, he squeezes back.

They stay intertwined until Bones woofs from the couch. Sam pulls away and carefully _doesn't_ notice the surreptitious way Kate wipes one eye. He points at her armload: a neatly folded white button up shirt atop pants of the same color, with thin blue pinstripes vertically lining both articles of clothing. A white towel sits below them.

“These for me? I actually have stuff in my bag.” His ears heat at how he forgot to mention that, but Kate's cheeks pink in embarrassment, too.

“Oh, okay then.” She emits a self-deprecating laugh, and lifts the shirt by its collar with her thumb and forefinger. “This is a spare set of pajamas from the hospital, anyway. Don't suppose that's what all the kids are wearing now?”

“No,” Sam agrees, offering a wan smile. He thumbs over one shoulder and continues, “Can I just use your bathroom? I was on a bus for a while, so there weren't any showers...”

“Of course,” Kate says. She moves to set the pajamas down on the couch, next to Bones, and Sam hides a wince. No way Bones won't get the white cotton dirty. Kate doesn't seem to mind, though. She even plops down next to the dog and takes his head into her lap. “Take the stairs and the bathroom is the second door to your left, 'kay?”

“Got it,” Sam says, as she begins toweling Bones off, deaf to his exaggerated howls.

Sam takes the steps upstairs two by two, and listens there for a moment, but Bones's cries have dulled, thankfully. He's glad, because nice as she is, he's sure Kate doesn't want her son woken by their commotion. Adam's door is slightly cracked, with stickers and splashes of paint all over the wood, directly across from the bathroom.

Sam stares at it for a second, before entering his destination, where he flings his bag on top of the lidded toilet. The bathroom is small, but smells like floral air-freshener, has flower-patterned rugs, and duckies printed on the shower curtain. It's so _cute_ , so unlike any of the motel bathrooms Sam has been in, that he showers in a rush, changes into a t-shirt and wool pants from his bag, then retreats. Drying his hair with his towel only makes the generic baby shampoo smell filtrate into the air. Again, he's glad Dean's not around.

He slowly descends down the steps, back into the foyer, and finds Bones asleep on the couch, alone. Soft hums filter through the open kitchen door nearby and meet his ears. Kate's back is to him. She faces the kitchen counter and extracts a bowl of something from a microwave.

“I thought you might be hungry,” she says, turning around and setting the bowl on a small table with four chairs. “It's veggie curry with rice.

Sam squints at the contents of the bowl. “Oh, um, you didn't have to do that for me.”

“I didn't.” Kate flicks her wrist dismissively and grins. “Mrs. Dutta is an expert chef. I, on the other hand, burn water, so expect pizza tomorrow.”

“I like pizza,” Sam says with a laugh. He tries one spoonful of Mrs. Dutta's curry and moans. “This is good, though.”

“Thought you'd say so. Enjoy.” Kate starts to exit, but somehow senses that Sam might protest, and adds, “Don't worry, I had some already. I'm just gonna go get cleaned up, then put you down with Adam, if that's all right?”

“Kate, no...” Sam purses his lips and flashes her what Dean calls his 'bitchface'. “You've already done so much. You kept me outta prison, let my dog chew up your couch... I really should sleep on it while I'm here.”

“Actually,” Kate cuts in, “I have an energetic, curious little boy. A dog can't do much more damage than that.” She beams at Sam impishly and he resists the urge to sigh or roll his eyes, because he almost feels like the adult between the two of them, but he knows it's probably just to put him at ease. Only, why someone would do so much without expecting something in return – or maybe to purposefully catch him off guard – he can't fathom. The knife newly re-strapped to his ankle burns hot. “It's fine, Sam, really,” Kate continues, perhaps fazed by his silence. “I'm gonna be upstairs. Eat up and head to Adam's room. He has bunk-beds, so there's room.”

“...Okay,” Sam finally relents. Kate leaves him to follow her suggestions. He sits still for a moment, then wipes his bowl clean. He has to admit, Mrs. Dutta _is_ an amazing cook, and he doesn't get home-cooked meals enough to deny them.

Upon finishing, Sam drinks two glasses of tap-water and wanders back into the foyer. Bones's deep breaths permeate in the room, soothing as a lullaby, and Sam is half-tempted to simply fall asleep on the couch next to him, so Kate has no choice but to keep him there. Even for Bones, though, the couch is small, its seats sagging, and Sam cringes after imagining the crick his neck would have the next morning.

He sighs, sends the staircase nearby a baleful glance, and gives in. He skulks into Adam's room like a ninja or a thief, like something that doesn't belong, before examining its dark innards. Posters of superheroes and cars mark the walls. One such wall has a shelf on it that little action figures and army men sit on. There's a toy chest at the end of the bunk-bed in the center. More toys are strewn about on the floor, which is outfitted with a furry jungle-patterned rug.

Adam's room looks just like normal kids' rooms that Sam has read about or seen on TV, but all Sam can think is, keeping your bed at the center of the room, directly in sight of the door, isn't strategically advantageous. Any old spirit could come in and toss your salad before you even woke. Not that he has a choice in the matter.

He chucks his bag onto the floor and quickly obtains a sack of salt out of it, which he uses to trace the doorway. He hopes Kate or Adam don't step into it by accident, because that would lead to uncomfortable questions. Before he climbs into the top bunk, he gets his first authentic look at Kate's son: messy blond hair pokes out from beneath a baby blue blanket and brackets chubby cheeks, one of which is pressed into a careworn teddy-bear's single ear. He looks safe enough – _cute_ , even, though Dean would chew Sam out for using that adjective on anyone but a chick.

“You...have a great mom,” Sam whispers. He blushes immediately afterward, not sure why he spoke in the first place, but Adam just gives a sleep sigh, completely unaware, so Sam mounts the plastic ladder parallel his feet and burrows beneath the top bunk's blanket.

He doesn't mean to, but after only a few minutes, he can't keep his heavy eyelids apart anymore.

-

Sam wakes to a warm, slowly petting weight against his cheek. At first, the motions elicit a contented sigh. They don't feel bad. The instant it sinks in that someone unknown is _touching_ him, however, Sam's eyes bulge open and he clamors to rise.

He finds himself staring into pale blue orbs, and stammers, “A-Adam?” because who else could a small blond child in Kate's home be?

Adam doesn't seem surprised that Sam knows his name. Maybe he's used to Kate bringing home strays, or maybe he's already talked to his mother downstairs. Either way, he simply blinks at Sam. “I'm sorry I scared you.”

“It's, uh, it's okay,” Sam says, a bit flustered by the earnest apology in Adam's tone. Dean would probably be bent double in a giggle fit by now if he'd startled Sam, but there's likely little in common between this seven year old and Sam's seventeen year old older brother. “I just didn't want you to, um, fall, 'cause you're kinda high up.”

“Okay,” Adam says, and scrabbles down the bed's ladder like a monkey.

Sam can feel Adam's eyes on him from below. “Um,” he mumbles again, before deciding it's time to pay the piper. He follows Adam down and kneels in front of him. “My name's Sam. Your mom is letting me crash here for a while. Is that...okay with you?”

“Okay,” Adam says for the second time, with an eager nod. He turns toward the exit of his room, then back to Sam, small fingers clustered into the top of his blue pajama set, which has Superman's sigil on its chest. It makes Sam hide a smile. Dean likes Batman, but the man of steel is Sam's absolute favorite. “Is the dog downstairs yours? Is he gonna be stayin' with us, too?”

Adam's evident excitement coerces a more genuine grin. “Yeah. I'm glad this is all cool with you, Adam.”

“It's _awesome_ ,” Adam replies, loosening his grip on his clothes to throw his arms in the air. He whips around and runs out of the room while they're still held aloft.

Alone again, Sam chuckles at how much like a bird Adam looks – an excitable little canary with its fair feathers ruffled, wings too small to help it during flight. He follows after Adam at a more reserved pace and finds the little boy half-atop his mother's lap in the kitchen, Bones's head occupying the other half.

Kate smiles upon catching sight of Sam. Her usually sleek blonde hair is also frazzled, but she's already up for the day, dressed in an old pair of jeans and a white button up shirt that's just a bit loose, billowing around her frame. A pair of fuzzy blue slippers completes her outfit. “Good morning, Sam.”

“Er, morning,” is all Sam has time to say, before Bones breaks away from Kate, bowls him over, and slobbers all over his face. He hears Kate and Adam giggling from flat out on his back, just prior to the kitchen entrance.

“Are you okay?” Kate asks, when he doesn't immediately rise. Sam sits up and shoves Bones's head away to nod his own. An overly affectionate dog can't quite compare to the poltergeists and other vengeful spirits he'd helped his dad and Dean lay to rest. Unaware of his morbid thought-process, Kate grins and shoos him out of the room. “Good, because you might wanna get cleaned up. Adam and I already have, right, honey?”

“I brushed my teeth,” Adam agrees proudly.

His toothy, dimpled smile and flushed, freckled cheeks give Sam pause for a moment, overly familiar, until he resolves that he must just resemble Kate's to a 't'. Who else could it be? Sam certainly can't remember ever visiting Windom on a hunt before, or even so much as passing through.

“Sure. Gotta get this dog drool off me, anyway,” Sam says, and Bones barks affront. Sam chuckles at the dog, then comes forward to give Adam's shaggy hair a light ruffle.

“We'll save you breakfast,” Adam calls after him, with another bright laugh.

Sam showers quickly. When he returns downstairs, he finds Adam on his second bowl of Lucky Charms, while Bones laps at some unidentifiable, impromptu dog food from the floor beside him. Adam grins, milk mustache and all. “Lucky Charms are my favorite!”

“Mine too,” Sam says, grabbing a free chair.

He can see Kate's eyes crinkle over the brim of her coffee cup. “That's a _lucky_ coincidence,” she says, at which Adam bursts out into a peal of giggles. Sam joins in and Bones barks. Kate rolls her eyes, but it's fond, not mocking. She leans forward on her elbows and begins to whisper, loud and conspiratorial, “Okay, Scout, why don't you debrief Sam on our plans for this wonderful Saturday morning?”

“Yes, Mom!” Adam salutes. Sam thinks he might have meant 'ma'am', but his beam is so enthusiastic, Sam doesn't have the heart to correct him. “We're gonna watch cartoons. All the _best_ ones come on Saturdays. Then, Mommy said we need to take Bones to the park, 'cause dogs need to exorcise–”

“ _Exercise_ ,” Kate corrects, without any real heat.

“Yeah, that,” Adam amends, as Sam blinks between the both of them.

Bones, meanwhile, thumps his tail at the mention of his name. Sam glances down at his gleaming gold fur and figures an outing wouldn't be so bad. There might even be a playground. They never had time to just stop and play, when he was younger.

“That sounds great...Scout?” Sam can't help ending on a questioning note. He cuts his gaze to Kate, who nods.

“Yay,” Adam exclaims, with a little bounce that makes what's left of his milk quake in his bowl. Kate's expression becomes stern. Adam promptly lifts his bowl up, slurps down its remaining contents, and says, “I'm done,” before scurrying out of the room.

Kate watches him recede with a wistful smile, then explains, “He just joined the Cub Scouts. I don't have a lot of time to spend with him, thanks to work, so I try to make sure he's having fun without me.”

“But he, uh, thinks being a scout is like a soldier, huh?” Sam asks, before she can get too down. “That _is_ really fun. Boy scouts learn to survive in the wilderness.” Much like hunters, he doesn't add aloud, because if he's heard Dean make fun of Boy Scout uniforms once, he's heard it a million times, and Dean would be blasphemed by the comparison.

Adam's return interrupts Kate's response. A little breathless, he levels big, hopeful eyes at Sam. “Are you done? Spider-Man's on; I checked!”

“Awesome,” Sam says, chuckling. He gulps down his milk like Adam did earlier.

Adam then takes Sam and Kate by their hands and shouts, “C'mon, doggie,” to Bones, before leading them all into the foyer to watch cartoons.

Sam has seen his fair share. Only recently, John had deemed it safe for him to tag along during hunts, as Dean did sometimes, but prior to that, when he and Dean had to stay cooped up, alone, in their latest motel rooms, there hadn't been anything better to do. Now, he delights in telling Adam about his favorites.

“So the swords made 'em turn from kids to superheroes?” Adam asks, about He-Man and the Thundercats.

“Yup.” Sam nods, his legs curled into a pretzel like Adam's, while Kate and Bones commandeer the loveseat above them.

“That's _just_ like Spider-Man–” Adam throws his arms up excitedly, as he had in his bedroom upon first meeting Sam, “–'cept for him it was a spider, not a sword.”

“He likes comics,” Kate says, eyes crinkled at the corners.

Sam finds himself grinning from ear to ear. A warm, metaphysical weight forms on his chest. He reaches out an arm to hug Adam's scrawny shoulders to his side. “I like comics, too. Has your mom gotten you anything from DC? Superman, like your shirt, is DC, ya know?”

The doorbell rings before Adam can answer. He and Sam look up at Kate, who rises immediately and heads toward a short hallway, practically a partition, which separates the foyer from the door. “You boys keep watching. I'll get it,” she calls back to them.

“Okay, Mommy,” Adam replies, returning to the TV, but Sam cocks an ear to listen.

There are two voices beside Kate's – a familiar male's and an unfamiliar female's. Kate walks in first and gestures behind her. “Sam, you remember Officer Barton?” He gives a curt nod to match her wry smile. “Good. And this is Mrs. Waverly. She's a social worker.”

“I'm not a runaway,” Sam tells the dark-skinned woman behind Kate at once. She quirks an eyebrow at him.

Adam looks between the adults and Sam with wide blue eyes, before inquiring, “A-are you gonna take Sam and Bones away, like you did with Kevin from my class last year?” which softens the woman's austere expression.

She hobbles forward on a cane, a thin manilla folder beneath one arm. “No, honey,” she says, accent light and lilting. “We just want to find Sam's mother.”

“I don't have a mother,” Sam cuts in coldly, which inspires an awkward beat of silence.

“You...live with your father, right, Sam?” Kate eventually asks.

“And brother,” Barton adds. At Sam's narrow-eyed glare, he clarifies, “Peggy told me,” face a mask of gravity.

Everyone's is, save Adam, and Sam is secretly grateful to the little guy's open curiosity. It's a nice change. He's deprived even that once Kate takes her son's hand and says, “C'mon, honey. Let's let Mrs. Waverly and the nice policeman talk to Sam, and then we can all go to the park, hm?”

“Okay,” Adam agrees, with one last glance at Sam, who forces a smile just for him.

“Everything's okay, kiddo. Go ahead,” he says, then reverts back to his bitchface as soon as the Milligans are out of earshot, Bones trotting off beside them. “I. Am. Not. A. _Runaway_.”

“Never said you were. Defensive, though.” Mrs. Waverly smirks at him. Before Sam can snap out a viable response, she winces and paws at her back, maneuvering around the folder. “If it's all right with you, young man, I'd really like to sit down.”

“Let me help you,” Barton says, but Mrs. Waverly holds up a hand.

“That's okay. Sam will assist me, won't you?” She extends her still upraised arm toward Sam, who wants to balk away from her, but instead lurches forward to accept it, releasing the old woman only after they've reached the couch. “Thank you, Sam,” she says, beaming.

“Um, no prob,” he replies, and after a few seconds of hovering, sits down beside her, which leaves scarcely any space for Barton. He leans against the partitioning wall and glowers.

“How are you liking it here?” Mrs. Waverly asks, ignoring Barton's sour expression.

Sam crosses his arms. He knows the start of an interrogation when he hears one. “Kate's great. Adam, too.”

“Good, good. I trust Kate,” Mrs. Waverly says, gnarled fingers linked together. “You can, as well. This isn't the first time she's helped someone in need. She's provided interim homes for foster children before, and never once has she expected anything in return.”

Sam catches his bottom lip between his teeth. “I know,” he says, because it's true. He's seen enough bad stuff in the world, bad people who can't even blame monster physiology for their crimes, to recognize that the Milligans are _good_.

Mrs. Waverly searches his face with her eerie pale, cataract-webbed eyes for the longest time. Sam almost expects them to blink black, due to their sheer intensity, but all she does is reaffirm, “Good,” and open the file on her lap. She cranes her neck to gauge his reaction. “Joe said you told Kate your name is Sam Lennon. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Sam answers, without breaking eye-contact.

Mrs. Waverly plows on with yet more questions, undaunted by his pseudo-calm. “Like from The Beatles, then? Are you a fan, Sam? Do you have a favorite song?”

Dean's voice suddenly filters into his thoughts, singing _Hey, Jude_ when they were much younger. Dean doesn't sing much anymore – at least, not like he used to – but Sam still hears him humming it sometimes, low and sweet. He can't remember Mary doing the same, though Dean swears she did.

“No,” Sam says firmly. “It's a coincidence. I'm not a fan.”

“Shame. They were legends for a reason.” This, the old woman says more to herself than Sam, he thinks. She changes the subject. “We didn't find a missing person's report for a Sam Lennon.”

“Or _anyone_ matching your profile anywhere in the U.S.,” Barton punctuates.

Sam resists the urge to stick out his tongue – or stick any other appendages up – at the man, who always seems to raise his hackles. “That's because I'm not _missing_. Why would my dad file a report for me if I'm okay?”

“But you aren't, Sam,” Mrs. Waverly says, and dammit, now she sounds sad, as if she has any right to pity him.

He scowls at her. “Everything would have been okay, if that jerk of a bus driver hadn't ditched me. I had Dad's permission, I paid for it–”

“And that's another thing,” Barton interrupts yet again. The boom of his voice elicits a bark from the adjoining room, the kitchen, where Kate, Adam and Bones are waiting. Barton drops his voice to an accusing whisper. “We checked the history of that credit card you used to pay for your trip – John Lennon's card – and it's brand new. Also, we couldn't find records of a John Lennon in Milwaukee, where the bus driver I caught up with said he picked you up. Not to mention, you told him you'd be meeting your mother at the park...”

Sam feels the color drain out of his face. “D-don't you need a warrant or something to check all that out?” he asks, after a protracted moment, which must make him seem that much more suspicious. His eardrums thrum in time with his rapid heartbeat, with the migraine building up in his temples.

“Don't you joke about this, kid,” Barton grits out, but Mrs. Waverly's arched brows quells them both.

To Sam, she says, “You don't want to lie to Kate, do you? You want to see your father again?”

An embarrassing burn of tears assaults Sam's eyes. He reaches into his shirt and clasps his fingers around the anti-possession charm John gave him and Dean. It's warm from perpetual contact with his skin, even as he draws it out into the open. “I-I didn't mean to lie. Dad and Dean just aren't there anymore because we travel a lot. They must have left before they found out about the bus.”

In reality, John had used another credit card to pay for their motel, then left them to visit a second location some miles away. Dean has probably gotten into touch with him by now. They're probably both looking for Sam – probably angry, worried, scared. Sam doesn't want anyone to prod him on those 'probably's because he doesn't want to think about them himself.

He's so lost in his own head that he misses how the adults have fallen silent. Barton wears a pensive expression and mouths things to himself. “John Lennon's son, Sam, with a brother, Dean...”

Sam surreptitiously drags his knuckles over his eyes and murmurs, “Um, yeah. That's what I said.”

“What is it?” Mrs. Waverly inquires, frowning at Barton when he comes to help her up.

“Nothing,” he says, then, “A new lead I need to investigate, actually. Let's thank Kate and get you back to your office.”

“Joe,” she protests, but he's not listening.

Sam hears him mutter something before they're gone: “Nice necklace.”

-

“Well,” Kate says, upon walking Mrs. Waverly and Officer Barton to the door, “that was exciting.”

“I guess,” Sam answers quietly.

Both Kate and Adam, who had previously been rolling around the carpet with a happy Bones, frown at him. “Is everything all right, Sam? And please don't say 'I guess'.”

If she was anyone else, Sam would have taken that as a challenge, but such genuine concern wells within her hazel eyes that he says, “Yeah. Yeah. We're gonna go to the park now, right?”

He directs the question to Adam, who bounces up at once and pumps a small fist. “Yeah!”

Kate's frown etches deeper. It's obvious she knows he's deflecting, but rather than argue, she allows the matter to drop, and proffers a standard, black dog leash. “I had Joe pick it up for me,” she informs Sam, before asking Adam, “You wanna help Mama put it on?” which earns her another gleeful crow.

Sam fondly observes how Bones stands stock-still, to allow Adam the chance to hook up his new collar and leash. It takes only a couple of minutes, and then they're out the door, on their way to the park. Adam takes Sam's hand as soon as they hit the sidewalk.

-

-

“We've gotta car, but we walk to the park,” he explains, smiling. “That's how all the boy scouts do it, right, Mommy?”

“Yup,” Kate laughs. She and Sam share an amused glance.

One of her hands is held in Adam's, too, while Sam, nearest to the parked cars along the curb, brandishes Bones's leash in his free one. He notices people watching them from houses along either side of the street. Kate does, as well.

“Nosy neighbors.” She laughs yet again. “They're probably thinking I've gone and got another kid.”

Sam cuts her a sideways glance and jokes, “Either that, or you like 'em younger.”

“Sam!” Kate exclaims, mouth a little 'o' of shock. She doesn't sound upset, though.

Sam feels warmth overtake his face. “Um, sorry. That's the kinda thing my brother'd say, if he was here.”

“What's that mean?” Adam pipes up.

Kate offers her son and Sam a halfhearted rebuke. “Nothing either of you should know.”

“Oh.” A tiny, thoughtful crinkle forms between Adam's eyebrows. Sam feels like he's seen something similar, maybe in the reflective surface of car windows, but before he can ponder it, the clouds clear up, and Adam asks, “What's it like, having a brother? I want one, 'cause my best friend, Kyle, does, but I can't.”

He pouts up at his mother, who merely says, “I thought Mikey was your best friend?” She seems torn between admonishment and amusement, when Adam makes an offhand comment about Mikey having 'cooties'.

Sam takes the opportunity to answer Adam's initial query. “Brothers are great, most of the time. Dean is, anyway.” He smiles up at the clear blue sky above, lucid as Adam's irises. He was right last night; Windom _is_ beautiful during the day, with potted and planted trees dotting the sidewalk, lush green lawns, and pristine white houses.

Adam blows a blond lock out of his eyes and tugs on Sam's hand. “So they're someone you can always play with? Any time?”

“And fight with,” Sam replies. The big blowout they'd had over his Six Flags trip percolates in his mind. Less than three days later, and he's starting to forget why it mattered so much to him in the first place.

“It's not safe for you, Sammy,” Dean had said, fists clenched, bone-white. They hadn't stayed so for long, as neither Winchester had ever been afraid to hit the other. Sam gave as good as he got.

“I wish I had one.” Adam's sulky tone brings Sam back to himself. “Kyle's brother showed him how to light fireworks.”

Kate shakes her head, blonde hair fluttering to and fro. “And _I_ wish I could give you one, but a brother's not a bike. Not to mention, I happen to think fireworks are too dangerous for you.”

“ _Mom_!” Adam pouts for a good five seconds, before extracting one of his hands to point at the boat-shaped sign that swerves into view. It reads Mayflower Park, some of its stylized green letters hidden beneath vines the same color. “We're here!”

Adam's shout riles Bones up. The dog begins dragging Sam across the street, toward a thicker brush of trees, grass, and other assorted plants. Flowers dance in the light wind, their petals bragging all imaginable colors. Kate and Adam tag along behind Sam.

“Whoa, boy,” he says, but it hardly matters. An instant later, they appear in a clearing of picnic tables, just past the park entrance.

“G-good thing the streets aren't too busy,” a harried Kate laughs, as she smooths her hair down. Adam releases her hand again and she kneels in front of him. “Never run across the street again, okay?”

Adam rolls his eyes. “I already _know_ to look both ways,” he huffs.

His indignant condescension earns a breathless laugh from Sam, who urges Bones down onto his haunches, and raises an eyebrow at Kate. “Wonder where he learned to roll his eyes?”

“You know, _young man_ ,” she retorts, “sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” but Adam's chatter distracts them both before Sam can point out that she's being pretty sarcastic herself.

“I wanna go 'sploring in the woods. Maybe I can get my next badge before Kyle and Mikey and everyone else,” Adam says, grin huge and gap-toothed.

“Why don't you show Sam the playground, instead?” Kate suggests, before he can get too worked up. She sends Sam a look, pleading him to play along, and Sam gets why. The woods can be dangerous, filled with wendigos, were-creatures, and other undesirables. It's no place for a sweet kid like Adam.

“Uh, yeah, I love the swings,” Sam says, attempting to look ingenuous.

Adam considers this for a minute, then nods and latches onto Sam's hand. “If you swing _really_ high, it's just like flying.” He starts pulling Sam deeper into the park.

“Bones and I will be at the tables. Be good,” Kate calls after them.

“'Kay, Mom,” Adam replies, and then they're out of earshot. The park is not very busy, but not _not_ busy, either. They pass two packed tennis courts, a basketball hoop manned by only two players, and a baseball diamond with two makeshift teams, comprised of half as many members as per an official game. “I like baseball. It's the funnest,” Adam stops and says, gaze steadfast on the fence around the diamond.

“Most fun,” Sam responds, because he saw all the star stickers on the papers magnet-locked on Kate's fridge, and knows she'd probably appreciate an impromptu grammar lesson to keep Adam as precocious as he is. He smiles when Adam repeats 'most fun' to himself, ever earnest. “I like baseball, too,” Sam continues. “Dean – that's my brother – sometimes sneaks me into games when Dad's not home.”

Adam falls silent, small face pinched ponderously. When next he speaks, his words come out of left field, no pun intended. “Do you...like having a dad?”

“Uh...” Sam boggles over what answer he could possibly give.

His silence appears to discomfit Adam, who presses his lips together into a tight line and wrings his small hands. “It's just, um, I've never had a dad before. Ever. Everyone in my classes and clubs does.”

The newest player up for bat hits a foul ball. Sam tracks it with his eyes, before he says, “I get how you feel. I do. I've never had a mom, but...I love my dad, and you love Kate, so it's okay, right? You wouldn't want anything to change?”

“I-I don't want my mommy to leave,” Adam replies, blue eyes round.

“And she won't,” Sam assures him swiftly, “but that's why it's better to be grateful for what you do have, rather than wanting what you'll never get. Maybe, in another world, you'd have a dad and a brother, and I'd have a mom. It happens in comics and cartoons all the time – alternate universes, mirror worlds – and I know I think about them sometimes, the little events that change things in a big way, but I... I wouldn't be able to actually live it.”

The conviction in his voice, his words, surprises even himself. It's true, though. Sam may wish to wake up to a beautiful blond woman who sings _Hey, Jude_ to him, and makes him sandwiches with the crusts cut off, but not if it means he loses John's gruff pride or Dean's rare, open, sincere laughter.

“Me neither,” Adam says, with a rapid-fire shake of his head.

Sam smiles and bumps against Adam's side with his own, light enough not to jar the smaller boy. “Good. Now, let's play on the swings and talk about you joining pee-wee baseball. _That_ can still be arranged, no prob.”

“Okay,” Adam concedes, and that's the end of that.

They relocate to the playground. It's fun. Sam pushes Adam on the swings, then awes him and the other small children at the park by breaking what they swear is Windom's swing-set record. Although Sam's a bit abashed by their fascination with him at first, he entertains all the start-struck kids on a manually wheeling merry-go-round and other playground implements.

The sun lowers in the sky above. Cacophonous barking eventually alerts Sam to the passing of time. He looks away from the jungle gym Adam hangs upside down off of, and finds Bones loping toward them, the dog's already golden fur painted effulgent as a halo.

“Hey, boy,” Sam greets the barking dog from his knees, searching him for any signs of harm on instinct.

There are none, of course. It's most probable that he broke away from Kate on his own, because what dog wants to come to the park, only to crouch beside the benches the whole time? Sam's heard animals rousing up this way, however, upon witnessing monsters tearing their masters apart.

Bones's barks and low growls even scare a few of the younger children back to their parents. Adam seems unnerved, as well. He hops off the jungle gym with a tiny frown and lands parallel to Sam. Bones finally quiets after licking the petite fingers Adam holds out to him.

“Maybe he's hungry?” Adam asks, as he wiggles said digits.

“Maybe.” Sam grabs Bones's leash and coaxes him toward the picnic area, where Kate was when they left. “Either way, we need to get back to your mom.”

Adam doesn't dispute him. He, Sam and Bones begin their return trek to Kate, who smiles at them from beside a hotdog cart, two buns in each hand, near the table she'd previously occupied. “Hungry?”

“Yeah,” Adam says, but before he can accept one, Kate inclines her chin at her purse, still on a bench.

“Get out some wipes and clean your hands,” she tells him. To Sam, she adds, “Nurse. What can you do? You should take some, too.”

“Okay,” Sam laughs, but there's a mix of embarrassment and relief brimming beneath outward passivity. Nothing was wrong with Bones or Kate. Nothing usually is, with the happy people of Windom, but he doesn't know how to get accustomed to that, when he might leave it any second.

Once he and Adam have tidied up enough to meet her approval, Kate hands them their hotdogs by their wax-paper wrappers. She then tosses a third on the ground, for Bones to munch on, before she sits and starts in on her own.

It doesn't take long for the boys or Bones to finish their lunches and re-clean. Kate's, on the other hand, is only half-nibbled, half-finished. She sighs and tosses it into a proximate trash can, into which the rest of their collective trash also goes.

“No appetite, I guess,” she says. Her tone is off, quiet enough that she's practically whispering. “There's been a stomach bug going around at the hospital.”

“Is...everything okay?” Sam inquires. Perhaps something went wrong, after all.

“Yes,” she replies, but when her son also frowns at her, amends, “...No.” She picks Adam up, into her lap. “They called from the hospital, baby. Someone didn't come in–”

“–And they need you to go,” Adam finishes for her, with a sad purse to his mouth, eyes shiny like they might well up with tears in an instant. Bones whimpers in tandem.

Kate hugs Adam to her chest and breathes into his hair, “I'm sorry, baby. I'll make sure they know I can't tomorrow, I promise.”

Adam sniffles, but his speech doesn't waver. “What about Nana Dutta? She's on a trip.”

“If you have to go to work,” Sam interrupts, before Kate can respond, “I can watch Adam tonight.”

Kate and Adam both stare at him. Their matching postures and wide eyes, the curled fall of light hair around their faces, look so alike. Sam shuffles from foot to foot, till Adam perks up and exclaims, “Oh, can he, Mommy? Please?”

“I-I don't know,” Kate says. “I'm supposed to be watching you, not the other way around.”

“It's okay. My dad has a weird work schedule, too. Dean's been watching me since _before_ he was my age,” Sam replies, and Kate works her jaw ineffectually.

Adam crawls out of her lap to face her – to better flash her his puppy eyes, Sam realizes. He recognizes the crumbling resolve on her face, reminiscent of Dean's, before Adam even says, “Please, Mom? I'll be good.”

“...All right, I suppose,” Kate relents, rising. “I'll walk you boys home, then. You can call me or the hospital anytime, Sam. All emergency contact numbers are taped to my fridge.”

“Sure,” Sam says, the easy crinkle of his eyes more for her benefit, to keep her calm, than anything.

They hurry back to the Milligans'. Kate stops on the curb prior her car and drops a kiss on Adam's pale forehead. “Behave for Sam, baby.”

“I will,” Adam mumbles, fingers clinched into the bottom of his black t-shirt.

Kate unwinds out of her stoop, thinks for a moment, then plants a kiss on Sam's cheek, which he can _feel_ growing hot beneath her lips. “Thank you, Sam. Here are the house keys and some money for takeout, when you get peckish.”

He nods in spite of his avid blush. Kate bows to give ruffle the fur on Bones's head and give him a hug. One blown kiss in their general direction later, she's gone. The boys watch the rear end of her van disappear.

“C'mon.” Sam takes Adam by the elbow, gentle. “We're gonna have fun, kiddo, I promise.”

Adam rubs a fist across his eyes as subtly as possible. Once his arm falls prone to his side, he says, “I guess so.”

Sam hugs Adam close with one of his own arms, leading Bones into the foyer by his leash with the other. It's dark inside. They'd turned all the lights off when they left. Sam flicks a switch on now and allows the synthetic glow to bathe Kate's furniture in chromatic shades.

Everything still looks depressingly empty. Sam reaches the revelation that it's _too big_ , as he cases the sofas, TV, and fireplace. He, his father, and Dean have hardly ever bunked in houses like the Milligans'. You'd think a single motel room shared by two or more people would be claustrophobic, but Sam's grown comfortable with the noises, the presences, the constant yammer of Dean's motormouth and inappropriate shows.

“Wanna make up a big bowl of popcorn and watch a movie?” Sam asks Adam, who nods. Sam looks toward the stairwell, smile curt. “Okay, good. You take Bones and go start, hm? I gotta go get something from my bag.”

“'Kay,” Adam says, and scampers off, Bones at his heels.

Sam stirs at once. He doesn't want to come back to a fire in the microwave, but with Kate gone, he gets a little leeway to do things he otherwise couldn't, but has wanted to since the moment he arrived – what he always does whenever he hits a new location.

He re-salts Adam's doorway, the entrance to the Milligan house, and starts on as many windows as he can, before Adam resurfaces, at which point he chucks his mostly empty bag of salt behind the nearest couch. That will be fun to explain to Kate later, but aside from his fair, furrowed brows, Adam doesn't seem too suspicious.

“Uh, hey, wanna pick a movie now?” a breathless Sam asks, to detract attention from his earlier activities. He flops down onto the loveseat and pats the spot beside him.

Adam frowns, but joins him. “Let's watch something scary; I like scary movies.”

“Does your mom _let_ you watch those?” Sam inquires, eyebrow arched in incredulity.

“Yes?” Adam says, and Sam chuckles, because not only does it sound like a question, Adam's eyes are wide and pleading yet again.

“Fine, but just for tonight, and we won't tell Kate.” Sam clicks the TV on and flips through the channels till he comes upon something with a grotesque musical score. He stops on it. Bones hops onto both of their laps, head on Adam's, torso, rump and wagging tail on Sam's.

The movie runs for perhaps an hour and a half. They've missed a good chunk of its opening. At first, Adam's fully riveted to the screen, but by the time only the killer and the main couple remain, he starts to droop against Sam.

Sam doesn't like scary movies for the same reason he hates Halloween: he gets enough horror in his everyday existence to scare Marilyn Manson shitless. Adam feels warm along his body, however, his thumb stuck in his mouth, and Bones is conked out on both their legs.

Sam extricates himself just enough to shut the TV off via remote, then melts into the arch of the couch, his eyelids shutting. He doesn't mean to doze off. A persistent _clink_ jars him awake. He straightens out immediately, hand moving to the gun lodged in the small of his back.

“What's going on?” Adam asks, rubbing at his face with sleepy precision. Bones lifts his head and whimpers.

“The doorknob,” Sam mutters by way of answer, intended only for himself. He shoves at Adam and Bones till they shift away, then rises on numb, wobbly legs, with which he makes for the door. “Stay here,” he calls back to Adam, fully extracting his gun.

A gasp and a second whimper resound. Sam flinches, but tells himself it's Bones again. It _has_ to be. There's an angry little voice in his head, though, which sounds a bit too much like John, that insists him scaring away the Milligans was inevitable. They're apple pie, sweet and wholesome; he's...something else. Rhubarb. Mince meat. Different.

The front door's lock shimmies from vertical to horizontal, closed to open, as it would if a key was employed, except a key would neither take so long, nor require so much effort. Besides, Kate left him her keys...

“Kate, is that you?” Sam inquires, regardless. He can still hide his gun, if it is, and work things out. Somehow.

The knob stops moving. Sam clicks off the safety on his Taurus with one hand and reaches for it with the other. Whoever stands behind the door doesn't speak. In one slick motion, he throws it open and exposes Kate's foyer to the hot night air.

No one's outside. In fact, the whole street's empty, save a pickup truck on the far end. It looks familiar, but it's so dark, Sam can't so much as tell what color it is, much less whether it's owned by someone he knows.

Bones starts to bark. “Sam,” Adam abruptly exclaims from behind him, but the warning comes too late.

Sam drops his gun on instinct to clutch at the arm that choke-holds him. “You're lucky it didn't go off,” someone growls, before he's released.

He lashes around and discovers Dean, smirk taut. Sam finds that he can't stare at it, nor into Dean's bright eyes, for long, because he knows that even Dean's most minute gestures will scream disappointment. Instead of looking, Sam lurches forward and hugs his brother.

“I'm sorry, Dean, I'm sorry.” His voice muffles into Dean's replacement jacket, into his smell of leather and grease, the other still upstairs in Adam's room.

Dean is stiff at first, but his arms rise to wrap around Sam's waist eventually. “Hey, it's okay,” he says. When Sam glances up at him, eyes wet, Dean grins. “I knew ya stole my gun, by the way, you little bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam replies, and shoves at Dean's chest. Dean snorts and retrieves his fallen weapon, juggling it between his hands adeptly.

They're both caught off guard by the latest whimper Adam emits. His lips tremble and his eyes have welled up with tears, as he stutters, “Are you gonna k-kill us?” arms around Bones's neck.

Sam has a feeling that's the only reason Bones hasn't made a leap for Dean's throat, though he'd already attacked Sam and had made Adam cry. Sam doesn't blame Bones for baring his fangs the way he does, but it stings that it's indiscriminately in the Winchesters' direction, not just Dean's.

“H-hey,” Sam says, arms aloft in a we-come-in-peace gesture. Adam flinches back into the sofa cushions when he draws near, but Sam soldiers on and rubs the fur on Bones's snout. “I'm not gonna hurt you. Any of you. I promise, Adam,” he continues, pressing himself into Adam's side again, identical to their posture during the movie.

Adam snuffles his face into the crook of Sam's neck. “R-really? And he won't, either? 'C-cause he looks like a meanie.”

“Hey!” Dean objects, but when Sam directs a helpless frown at him, he shrugs and sticks the Taurus into his jeans.

“No, he's Dean. I told you about him, remember?” Sam says. Adam doesn't seem convinced, so he adds, “He won't hurt you, _I swear_. Please trust me, Adam.”

Dean thumbs over his shoulder, at the wall blocking off the door. “I'm, uh, gonna let Dad know he can come in.”

He's gone before Sam can process his words. Of course, it's obvious when he thinks about it, though. Dean couldn't have made it through the Milligans' back door, if someone hadn't distracted Sam from the front.

“So, your dad and brother are here?” Adam asks, no longer choked up, at least.

“Yeah.” Sam forces a smile. “When they get back, we can order that pizza your mom left us money for.”

“'Kay,” Adam replies, just as John enters, Dean behind him.

John's mouth curls into a grim line, his eyes more bloodshot than usual, but to his credit, he doesn't death-march Sam out of the Milligan house immediately. John Winchester isn't typically the sort of man to ask questions first.

Sam tilts his chin up with a determined scowl, his anger from earlier simmering anew. “We can't leave. Not till Kate gets home.”

“Kate?” John asks.

“My mom,” Adam chimes in, which attracts John's attention to him for the first time.

“This is Adam Milligan,” Sam says, giving Adam a slight squeeze. “I'm watching him for his mother, Kate, who let me squat here after the police caught me.”

“Oh...” John's frown doesn't let up. Sam knows they'll be having a talk about all the trouble he's in later.

“Dad–” Dean starts to say, when John lopes toward Sam and Adam, but all John does is take a seat on the small couch perpendicular to Sam's.

He scrutinizes Adam a moment, before breaking out into a wide smile and introducing himself. “I'm Sam's father. It's nice to meet you, Adam.”

Sam gapes. Dean does, as well. Adam, on the other hand, beams between the Winchesters. “Pizza now? I like green pepper.”

“Y-yeah,” Sam agrees, and distantly thinks, green pepper's his favorite, too, whereas his father and brother love their meat too much. Perhaps now he'll win that vote.

-

By the time Kate arrives, Adam has been fed and put to bed. Sam expects her surprise at finding John and Dean with Sam, but not the way John's jaw drops, breath picks up, and eyes round.

“K-Kate,” he stammers, uncharacteristic of him.

Kate's eyes first flick away, then return to hold his. She grimaces. “I, uh, suppose we need to talk?”

“What's going on? You two know each other?” Dean voices Sam's question, but John shuts him up with a single look.

“Go upstairs, boys. Sam, get your things ready,” he says, and though shock still sits heady on his face, his tone brooks no room for argument.

Sam swallows down a rebuttal. Dean takes him by his bicep and murmurs, “C'mon, Sammy,” guiding him toward the stairwell.

Sam stays silent till they reach the very top step, then inquires, “How'd you find me, anyway?”

Dean reaches out and flicks the amulet of his anti-possession charm. It emits a soft _ping_. “Apparently, Dad had a hunt here in Windom years ago, and some policeman helped him out,” he explains.

“Barton?” Sam asks, an octave too loud. He and Dean aim a guilty look at Adam's half-cracked door. “I...guess that makes sense. He did sorta pale when he saw this, and it explains Dad knowing Kate, too.” Sam compresses the charm in his palm. “Weird to imagine Barton on a hunt, though. Guy's pretty uptight about the law.”

“Policemen,” Dean replies, shrugging, and that's really all that needs to be said on the matter. Dean glances at Adam's room again. “Are you gonna...you'll probably have to say goodbye, Sam. Can't avoid it forever; your bag's in there.”

“I know.” Sam frowns. His reunion with Dean and his father went nicer than he'd ever imagined, but he's been determinedly _not_ thinking about its implications – namely, that he has to leave.

Sam sucks in a deep breath and steels his nerves. He can't help flinching, however, at the creak Adam's door makes when he gives it a light push. “I'll be here,” Dean calls after him, and he almost wishes Dean would follow. He won't beg, though.

He sidesteps his bag and several toy cars, as he picks his way to Adam's bedside. Adam's turned to his right, face toward Sam, curled into a little ball beneath his blankets. Sam stretches an arm out and strokes his soft blond hair, earning a quiet sigh, before Adam's blue eyes blink open. They look even darker in the shadows.

“Are you leaving?” Adam mumbles sleepily.

“I – yeah. Yeah, buddy, I am.” Sam manages a smile.

His efforts are rewarded by Adam doing the same. Adam sits up and takes Sam's hand. “Don't be sad. We have to be happy with how things are, right? And you can come visit us?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, a vague response to both inquiries. It's all he can get out of his throat, which feels snug and tight with oncoming tears, accompanying the twinge beneath his lids. He probably won't ever see Adam or Kate again, and when Bones, who'd thus been sleeping on the floor right of Adam's bed, barks, Sam realizes they aren't the only ones. The road is no life for a playful dog. He wipes his face on the sleeve of his plaid shirt and grins, teeth grit so tight that it's practically painful. “We probably can't take Bones with us. ...Do you think you can take care of him for me, till I get back?”

Adam's eyes grow earnestly large as he bobs his head, flyaway blond locks aflutter. Bones hops onto the bottom bunk with him. Adam's arms wrap around the dog's furry neck, where the collar Barton bought remains. “I will, Sam. I promise.”

“Thanks,” Sam says, then, before he can stop himself, pitches forward to hug them both. “M-maybe I'll never have a mom or a little brother, but you felt like one to me, Adam,” he whispers. “You and Kate felt like _family_.”

Adam's smile smooths out. Sam suspects he shouldn't have spoken, that he sounds too sad, but Adam clings to him in return and replies, “You feel like family, too.”

“Bye, kiddo,” Sam says, putting his all into their final embrace. He gets an answering lick from Bones, before he extricates their limbs, grabs his bag, and retreats to an awkwardly shifting Dean's side.

Both Winchesters turn toward the staircase at the sound of footsteps. “Go wait in the car, boys,” John directs them.

“'Kay,” Dean says, and leads Sam out.

Kate has her palm pressed to her trembling mouth, her eyes shiny. Sam wonders what she and John were discussing. Upon noticing him, she envelops him in a hug, nonetheless. Dean also gets one, which inspires him to gape. Sam would laugh at the expression, if he hadn't done the same that first time Kate hugged him.

“Come back one day, boys,” she tells them. “My door is open to you anytime.”

“'Sure,” Dean says. Sam simply nods.

They head outside together and wait for a good ten minutes, then spy John hurrying out. “Had to say goodbye to Adam,” he mutters, once they're inside the truck, though Sam doesn't know why he'd need to bother. He meets Sam's gaze in the rear-view and punctuates, “We'll talk about this later, but we _will_ talk.”

Sam huffs and snuggles back into the truck's seats. Dean throws an arm around his shoulders. They drive in silence for hours. Sam doesn't mean to, but nods off against the solid warmth of his brother's body.

The next time he wakes, it's to bright, flashing lights, loud music and the sweet peal of children's giggles. “W-where are we?”

“It's not Six Flags,” John says, something sheepish about the furrow of his dark eyebrows, “but I thought we could stop and take a break at the Valleyfair.”

“Oh,” Sam replies, before a happy beam breaks his face.

-

Twelve years later, after John's death, they get a call from a worried nineteen year old, seeking his father's help to find his missing mother, and for a moment, Sam can't even breathe.

-

The End

-

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that was good! Let me know what you thought!


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